


Smoke and Mirrors

by DarkAngelBK201



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Angst, Blood, Gen, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Serious Injuries, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:37:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5887936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAngelBK201/pseuds/DarkAngelBK201
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SnB verse. When Sin sends out a risky caravan with Ja’far at its head, only a scarce few get out alive and Ja’far is taken into the clutches of the Organization. Sin rushes to rescue him, but with the Organization pulling the strings in this mess of a game, a situation is never as simple as it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welllllllll, here we are again with my next awful fic (if you can't tell by the tags, holy shit I never realized just how AWFUL this fic is until now)!
> 
> This one is going to be long so strap yourselves in for an adventure of pain and suffering! What can go wrong will go wrong, my friends!

The halls in the Sindria Trading Company headquarters were lively, filled to the absolute brim with people going about their business. Men carrying boxes skirted the edge of the main path, attempting to avoid the traffic as much as possible while still managing to make good time. Others crossed near the middle, paperwork clutched to their chests and stern expressions pressed solidly across their faces. The bright sunlight streamed in through the open windows, bathing all who passed in the warmth of the afternoon. Humid air pooled in the packed space, dots of sweat beading on Sinbad’s forehead as he too made his way through the building. His shirt clung to his damp back, sticking uncomfortably to the already hot and sticky flesh.

Such was the climate of Balbadd in the summer months. Sometimes living near the ocean wasn’t as incredible as people made it out to be.

Sighing, Sin dragged the back of his hand quickly across his forehead, his lips curling back in disgust when it came away soaked. But still he walked on, weaving through the traffic. Employees smiled at him as he passed, a gesture he returned effortlessly, a bright grin stretching easily across his face. Despite the weather, the company employees were in high spirits, even with sweat dripping down their backs and making their uniforms cling to their bodies. The move had been a good move, for just about everyone. On top of it all, the company was busier than ever. Two caravans were leaving today: one headed by Drakon and Serendine and the other by Ja’far.

Sinbad had swung by Drakon’s room earlier today, going over the general plan. Drakon was leaving by boat later in the afternoon, when the tide was due to roll out, transporting the shipments packed within to the countries that the company already had affiliations with. He’d likely be back within a few months, if not earlier. Sinbad wasn’t overly worried about them as the trip should be easy going, with few to no problems.

He was, however, worried about Ja’far’s expedition.

Slowing near the bend in the hall, Sinbad turned to the closed door on his right, lifting a hand to rap his knuckles gently against its surface. “Come in,” Ja’far called, even before he could knock. Sin rolled his eyes, his lips pressed into a thin, flat line. His hand dropped to the doorknob, turning it and shoving the door open. Ja’far had his back to him, digging through the large pack resting on his bed. The room was surprisingly untidy, for Ja’far’s room at least. The clothes scattered around the room were still folded neatly and stacked, but were outside their drawers. Sin leaned up against the door frame, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“You really have to stop doing that, Ja’far,” he remarked dryly, golden gaze blinking slowly at the boy before him. Ja’far hummed his response, not even bothering to glance back at Sinbad. One of his hands shot out to grab a pile of clothes piled in front of his pack, carefully stowing them inside with the rest. His red wires were wrapped firmly around his arms, their presence constant even now. Sin’s gaze lingered on them for a moment, his mouth twisting into a light frown. The first flutterings of concern welled up in his thoughts, a feeling he quickly shoved aside.

“Stop what? It’s not my fault I can hear your breathing from down the hall,” Ja’far replied, his voice roughened by the beginning stages of puberty. Sin’s lips twitched at the crack that broke what would have been a snide comment, swallowing back the laughter that was already building in his throat. Ja’far rolled his eyes, turning finally to glare openly at Sinbad. He took a deep breath and released it slowly, crossing his arms across his chest. “Really? You’re such a child, Sin. It’s not like I can control this.” His voice was soft, carefully modulated so lessen the breaks in his tone.

“You know, you always want me to listen to you, Ja’far,” Sin snickered, his cheeks flushed from the laughter he concealed deep in his throat. “But now it’s impossible to listen to anything but you. Your voice rivals even Piprika at times, I swear.” Onyx eyes darkened with a molten glare, a scowl carving deeply across Ja’far’s face. “Doesn’t it hurt when you squeak like that? I heard you broke a window yesterday.”

“SHUT UP!” Ja’far snarled, his hands, curled into fists, shoved down by his sides. Sin would have been intimidated if not for the wondrous crack that jerked the warning up two octaves. He dissolved into laughter, his hands wrapping around his sides to hold them together. Bending over himself, he slid down the doorframe, roaring guffaws building in volume as he did. Ja’far stood before him, his hands curling tighter into themselves. Tendons bulged from his arm, the sinewy cords of muscle taut against his skin. His eyes were narrowed into thin slits, his lips pressed tightly together in fury. Eventually, Sin calmed, tears streaming down his pink cheeks. A golden hue glittered up at Ja’far, a wide grin splitting his expression,

“Well if you put it that way, I have no choice but to listen.” His tongue shot out to wet his lips, swallowing down the giggles that threatened to escape. Ja’far took a breath, his eyes shutting briefly, and relaxed, his fingers hanging loosely by his sides. One of his hands came up to pinch the bridge of his nose, a habit he picked up from Rurumu, his head shaking briefly.

“What do you want, Sin?” he asked wearily, running the hand slowly down his face. Sin settled down onto the floor, stretching his long legs through the entire opening. An amused smirk still graced his expression, matching the mischievous gleam to the bright gold that stared up at Ja’far.

“Just one thing really.” He paused, his lips trembling slightly. Ja’far almost knew what he was going to say before he said it, the signs of the joke visible far before Sin spoke it. “Ja’far, I’ve heard rumors that you’ve been spending a long time in the bathroom lately. Should I be concerned? Or have you just been having a _hard_ time breaking away from the bath?” A flash of silver shot across his vision, the warning knife embedding itself in the wood beside his head. Sin froze, his mouth hanging open in surprise. Ja’far stalked up to him, his other blade clutched tightly in his free hand. He squatted down, the edge pressed against the thin skin of Sin’s throat.

“If you make one more joke about the changes my body is going through, which are _normal_ mind you, I will slit your throat and leave you for dead,” Ja’far hissed, his eyes dark and threatening. He dug his weapon deeper, just barely slitting the flesh it was pressed against. Blood beaded along the edge, thin trickles running along the incline of the knife. “Do you understand me?” Sin nodded wordlessly, his eyes wide. Ja’far searched his expression before nodding and stepping away, the anger draining from his body. “Good.” He recalled the blade in the wall, catching it effortlessly, and began the lengthy process of recoiling the wires.

Sin rubbed at the small wound at the base of his neck, wincing slightly at the sharp sting of his hand touching the open cut. “Was that really necessary?” he complained, gathering his feet under himself in order to stand. Ja’far snorted, tugging at the red ropes to test the tension of the weapons.

“Were you going to stop?” Sin didn’t respond, a pout pulling at his features. “Didn’t think so.” With a final yank, he finished recoiling his weapons, crossing his arms over his chest as he turned an irritated gaze towards Sin. “Now why are you really here? Because I highly doubt that you showed up just to make a few jokes.” Sin sighed, his shoulders slumping. He’d nearly forgotten.

“I…I came to check on you. I wanted to go over the caravan path with you one more time and the general plan of action to do at each stop.” Ja’far raised an eyebrow, one of his lips twitching upward in an amused smirk. Sin blinked at him, expression carefully wiped of any and all emotion. They stared at each other for a moment, silence falling quickly between them.

“Sin, are you worried about me?” Ja’far asked, amusement laced in his words. Sin’s mouth dropped open, a prepared set of denials nearly spilling from his lips. But he stopped them just before he spoke, slowly closing his mouth and nodding. Purple hair flopped over his eyes, but the gold shimmering behind them never wavered. Ja’far shook his head, his arms dropping away from his chest as he turned to continue packing his rather large bag. “Come on, Sin. We’ve been over the plan several times in as much detail as possible. I know the ins and outs of this mission better than anyone. You have no reason to be concerned.” Sin’s gaze dropped to the floor, the skin around his eyes tightening.

“I know, Ja’far. I just have a bad feeling about all of this…”

“Don’t worry, Sin. There’s a reason that you picked me to lead this expedition and I intend to see this mission until its end. Trust me.”

“I do, Ja’far… More than anything.” Ja’far paused in his movements, his hand hovering over a pile of clothes sitting at the foot of his bed. He sucked in a silent breath, a little rattled by the weight of Sin’s statement. But in the next moment, he grabbed the clothes, hiding the tremble to his movements.

“Then trust me to succeed, Sin. I won’t fail you.”

“I know.” Exhaling audibly, Sin stepped closer to Ja’far, noting the tension in the younger man’s stance. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright on your own, Ja’far?” Ja’far pulled himself upright and craned his head towards Sin, onyx gaze serious.

“Sin, I was an assassin for the first ten years of your life and I’ve been keeping after you for the other three. I’ll be fine.” Sin smiled, his hand dropping down onto Ja’far’s shoulders and squeezing once.

“If you say so, mighty assassin. I leave it to you. Don’t let me down.” Ja’far rolled his eyes, returning to his bag once more.

“I don’t plan to.”

Sin’s hand stayed on Ja’far’s shoulder for another moment before he removed it, stepping back. “Then I’ll leave you to finish packing. Safe travels, Ja’far.” Ja’far waved at him, but didn’t say anything. Sin shook his head but turned and left, pulling the door shut behind him. Standing in front of the closed door for a moment, he stared out the open window directly across from him, his golden eyes troubled. A weird sense of foreboding stole over him, warning him of something he did not quite comprehend yet. Something wasn’t right here.

Sighing, he shook his head once to clear it and walked away, intending to make his rounds as he normally did. But that strange feeling didn’t leave him, no matter how much he tried to ignore it.


	2. Chapter 2

Dust billowed in large clouds from the road, stirred into the air by the wheels of the large carts rushing over it. The sun, hanging hot overhead, beat down on the group of travelers moving below, the blue sky stretching for miles around it without a single promise of shade. The whine of beetles permeated the air, droning louder as the afternoon wore on. Ja’far was the only member of the caravan who wasn’t outwardly complaining, despite the fact that his clothes clung to his sweat-slicked skin and dust was caked in the cracked crevices of his lips. He was perched, with one leg dangling freely, on the bench of the first cart in the line, a map stretched out before him. A single path was marked out in red ink, tracing the route that the caravan was intended to take. One of his hands held down the paper with splayed fingers, saving it from bouncing with the lumps and divots in the road itself, while the other was curled against his mouth in thought.

“Don’t you have that thing memorized by now, Ja’far?” Mystras asked dryly. A dirt-caked hand closed around the side of the cart and Mystras popped his head up, the wind toying with the thin strands of red hair that were draped over his face. He swung himself up onto the bench beside Ja’far with a grunt, his visible eye trained directly on the younger boy. Ja’far glanced up briefly, but resumed his contemplation without a response. Mystras huffed, leaning backwards onto his elbows.

“I’m sorry, am I not good company, Mystras?” Ja’far remarked, his voice brittle with irritation. “Forgive me, I’ll try harder next time.” The cart passed over one particularly large bump, jostling both its contents and its passengers. Mystras’ eyes, a little wide with surprise, slid to the side to glance warily at Ja’far. It had only been a few hours since this trip had begun and the heat had already worn everyone down. Tempers were boiling, harsh words biting harder than any physical hit. Already, Mystras could see the signs of the temperature on Ja’far. A bright flush darkened his pale cheeks, sweat beading and streaking down his face. His movements were sluggish, his reaction time slowed, though only slightly. Even Ja’far’s normally calm and collected demeanor was altered by the hot sun that shimmered like water overhead, evident by the venom in his voice.

Shifting uncomfortably on the bench, Mystras cleared his throat, gaze skirting away from Ja’far. “You’re not looking that great, Ja’far. Perhaps you should go lay down for a few minutes…cool down a little?” Onyx eyes shot up to glare at him, Ja’far’s hand lowering from his mouth to reveal the scowl that was forming directly underneath. Armor clinking together, Mystras shrugged. “It was just a suggestion. You won’t be doing anyone any good if you pass out mid-trip.” Scowl deepening, Ja’far rolled up the map, onyx gaze flinty.

“I’m fine, Mystras,” Ja’far snapped, tucking the map into the small bag crumpled at his hip. “I understand that Sin sent you along to assist me, but you don’t need to be concerned about my health. That is my own business.” Mystras stared at him, mouth dropping open in wordless shock. But the emotion bled soon to temperature-fueled anger. He sat up, snapping his head away from Ja’far haughtily.

“Fine,” he sniffed, hands curling around the edge of the small bench. “I’ll go see to the other members of our caravan then. They’re actually hu-” The sudden, jerking stop of the carriage cut off his words, the momentum nearly throwing him from his seat. His hands gripped the bench, fingernails digging deeply into the wood to anchor himself into his seat. Ja’far was standing in seconds, narrowed onyx eyes peering ahead. The skin between his eyebrows crumpled, a deep frown carved across his face. Mystras craned his head upwards towards Ja’far, one of his hands coming up to shield his face from the sun. “…why did we stop?” Ja’far stiffened, dark eyes skirting towards his companion for one quick instant.

“…I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.” He jumped from the cart, landing nimbly in the dust below. Straightening from his slight crouch, he strode towards those who were leading the caravan, hands curled into tight fists at his sides. What he had seen in the distance didn’t bode well for them and he only could hope he was wrong. There was something off about this…Tension knotted his shoulders, coiling them in preparation for what may come from this development. His steps were even, his feet slamming hard into the dirt. Two men stood in front of the front line of horses, hands waving animatedly around as they argued. The harsh growl of their words was laced with venom, anger fueled by the boiling heat. Before them, a mass of crumpled boulders sat in the main road, blocking the entire passage.

Ja’far’s frown deepened, pausing mid-step to rake his gaze over the rocks. Shaking his head, he continued forward until he stood before them, reaching a hand out to run his fingers gently over the rock’s surface. It was smooth, almost unnaturally so, and warm to the touch. A few minor cracks dented their surfaces, but for the most part, they were unblemished, unnaturally so. Strange. His gaze flicked down to the ground at his feet, shifting his stance slightly to reveal the scrapes in the dirt below. The wind had covered a majority of the marks with the loose dirt on the road, but it wasn’t enough to cover the deeper gouges that had been carved into the earth.

These rocks had been deliberately placed here. But for what reason, Ja’far couldn’t say.

Inhaling slowly, Ja’far turned towards the feuding men, concern lining the edges of his expression. Apprehension stirred in his gut, his skin prickling with unease. “-don’t you get off your lazy ass and move these damn boulders then?!” one of them sneered, arms gesturing towards the rocks blocking their path. “Because with them still there, guess what?! _We can’t continue!_ ” A hood was draped over his head, blocking the sun’s harsh rays from striking his skin directly. But even still, his face was flushed, though it was unclear whether it was from anger or the heat, and sweat poured down his face.

“You can yell at me all you want, but these rocks can’t be moved! It’s fucking impossible!” the other shot back, lips pursed and nose crinkled in anger. “We need to find another way around!” The hooded man let his head fall back against his shoulders in exasperation, a growling sigh escaping from between his lips.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! There _is_ no other way! So you’re going to have to figure someth-” Ja’far cleared his throat, lifting his chin in a way he’d seen Sin do before. The two men stopped, their gazes dropping to him.

“I’ve noticed that we’ve encountered a little problem here,” he started, nodding his head back towards the road. His hands settled heavily on his hips, dark eyes stern as he stared back at them. “How long would it take to clear this?” The cloaked man smirked at his companion, his eyes narrowing in satisfaction.

“A few days at most, given that we have the right equipment…” the other man answered, a scowl stretching across his face. Ja’far gazed thoughtfully at him for a second, before shaking his head, the unease beginning to swell within him.

“We don’t have that kind of time.” He paused for a moment, mind already racing through the option. The schedule was already tight as it was, so detours and any other delays should be kept to a minimum when possible. “We’re going to have to find an alternate route.” The hooded man shook his head, his arms spreading wide when he opened his mouth to speak.

“But there _is_ no alternate. If there was, I would have already directed us there.” Ja’far glanced back towards the rocks, his expression clouding with thought. One of his hands dropped to the satchel at his hip, fingers curling into the sturdy cloth. Swallowing, he drew in a breath. This entire situation felt wrong. Very wrong. But it wasn’t as if he had a choice…

“There is one way,” he said quietly, returning his gaze to the men before him. “I saw it earlier when studying the map. It’s a less travelled route, but useable. And right now…it’s our only option.”

**MLMMLM**

The sun was high in the sky when the first of the trees appeared, its limbs high and reaching. Wilted leaves clung to the ends of its thin branches, rustling in the breeze that disrupted the still air. More piled at its base, individual leaves tugged to drift towards the large caravan. Ja’far watched the lone tree, his jaw clenched. In the distance, the lines of the forest stretched across the horizon, a shadowed smudge on the otherwise bright day. The path that they travelled led straight to it. Other members of the caravan moved past him, barely sparing Ja’far a second glance. Nobody else felt it, the strange power that thrummed through the atmosphere.

Sighing, Ja’far walked, a little hastily, to catch up with Mystras, still blatantly ignoring the tingle of unease that skirted down his spine. Sweat trickled from his forehead, silver strands of hair plastered against his damp face. His heart pounded in his chest, his extremities pulsing in time with that steady beat. The heat was beginning to affect him, but he’d never actually admit it. There just wasn’t time for him to give in to his body’s weaknesses at the moment. Mystras didn’t acknowledge him when he approached, a reaction that he liked deserved given their earlier interaction. “Mystras,” Ja’far called quietly. “I need a favor.”

Mystras snorted, rolling his eyes. “I thought you didn’t need my help,” he scoffed, still not dropping his gaze to the boy beside him. Ja’far stared ahead, where the outer limits of the forest grew larger. He didn’t have time for this.

“Please. I need your help.” Mystras huffed, his hair fluttering upwards at the puff of his breath against it. Most of it was stuck against his cheek, but some of it still remained loose against the drenched locks of hair plastered to his skin. His head tilted down towards Ja’far, dark eyes staring dully down at him. Once he got a good look, he blinked, not ready for the nervous onyx eyes that met his own.

“Alright. What do you need?” A look of relief blossomed on Ja’far’s face, his gaze softening.

“Just…be on your guard. Something’s not right here.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually a part of a much bigger scene but I had to it in order to shorten the chapter lengths for people who read on tumblr. But this is where the fun begins. Hope you all enjoyed the happiness and jokes from the last chapter, because it's going to be a while until you get more. Hehehehe
> 
> Welcome to hell! Enjoy your stay!
> 
> -cackles-


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I heard you guys like pain. <3

Mystras’ eyes narrowed, frowning slightly. His hands felt strangely empty, his lance stowed with the other supplies in one of the rear carts.

“What do you mean, Ja’far?” Ja’far didn’t respond for a second, tensing at the shadows that suddenly fell over them. Trees stretched up all around them, reducing the space they had to travel in by quite a bit. The air was tense and heavy, a sensation only magnified by the darkness that now spilled down from the trees, the canopy overhead blocking out all but some of the sunlight. Pockets glowed in the brush as they walked, a crimson light that broke through some of the shadows. Instinctively, Ja’far’s fingers brushed against the wires wrapped tightly around his arms, the mere feel of them easing some of the tension that had settled about his shoulders.

“I…I have a bad feeling. Those rocks in the path…they were put there on purpose. Someone wanted us to go this way.” Mystras sucked in a breath, his hands clenching only to close in on empty air. His eyes, now hard and concerned, scanned the immediate area. The path was thin, only allowing a single line of carriages through, and there was no room to fight, much less run. If they were attacked here, it would lead to chaos. He leaned over, one of his hands clasping around Ja’far’s shoulder.

“Do you know why?” he whispered, almost cautiously. Ja’far shook his head, lips pressed together into a thin line.

“Just be on your guard. I don’t know what could happen, but I don’t like it.” Mystras nodded, straightening once more.

“I will.” Ja’far smiled, a small, weak expression that betrayed the unease that coursed through him.

“Thank you.” Grinning in response, Mystras winked at him.

“What could happen with the two of us here? This caravan is-”

A loud, crackling bang cut off his words, an oppressive wave of heat crashing over them. Ja’far froze, a sudden rush of adrenaline surging through his veins. His heels scraped the brush as he wheeled towards the source of the noise, eyes wide with horror. Smoke billowed up from the back of the caravan, thin streams of it snaking through the interlocking pattern of branches overhead. The rest settled down into the forest, already beginning to haze the air. Flames licked up toward the sky, a bright glow slicing through the shadows. People rushed towards the fire, loud screams of panic and pain roaring across the snap of the flames as it ate through the carriage that housed it. Ja’far’s blood ran cold, his hands moving instinctively to release the blades that he strapped to his arms.

Mystras cursed beside him, his face pale in the flickering orange glow of the flames. His hands were empty, Ja’far just noticing the absence of the weapon that his comrade always had on him. “Mystras…where is your lance?” he asked, his voice hollow to his own ears. Out of the corner of his eyes, shadows danced in the trees, moving fluidly and silently amidst the panic. Mystras’ expression was grim, his mouth a hard slash across his face.

“In the back cart,” he responded, frustration heavy in his tone. Ja’far bit back his own curse as it attempted to escape his throat, his hands tightening around the comforting metal of his knives.

“What were you thinking?! We don’t have time for this!” Mystras glared at him, the bright light of the fire dancing in his dark eyes.

“Do you think I don’t know that?! Just…Just give me a few seconds to get it. I’m not going to let this get any worse. I promise.” Ja’far stared at him, horribly aware of the shadows stalking towards them. He shook his head, wheeling around.

“Fine. I leave the caravan to you. Don’t let them die.” And he rushed off, ignoring Mystras’ protest. Someone had to stop the attackers before this could get any worse. He could trust Mystras to guard what remained of the caravan while he took care of those responsible. Flicking outward with both of his wrists, twin knives launched into the haze, embedding into the top of a single tree with a dulled thud. With a single heave, he pulled himself up onto a lower branch, recalling his blades with a single tug. He climbed up the rest of the way, his steps careful and silent. Pausing at the top of the tree, he caught his breath, scanning the darkness with a practiced gaze.

“I know you’re out there,” he whispered, one of his hands resting against the trunk of the tree. The coarse, irritating scent of smoke scratched at his nose, his eyes watering from their exposure to it. “Come and get me…” And he waited, listening to the rustling of the trees, to the crackle of flames, to the panicked screams of both men and woman as they watched the carts get consumed by the fire. Taking a deep breath, he let his eyes slip shut, readjusting his grip on his blades.

Any moment now…

A branch creaked in front of him, his eyes snapping open and his arms lifting just in time to block the knife of his attacker. Dark, beady eyes stared into his own, his face shrouded by a black cowl that was pulled tight against his head. Snarling, Ja’far shoved him away, swinging wide with one of his weapons. But he missed, his assailant jumping to another tree before his knife could bite into flesh. Ja’far followed him into the darkness, leaping from one branch to another. The hiss of a blade his only warning, he dodged to the side, one of his hands shooting out to pin the arm of his attacker to a tree with a blade. His knife jerked to a stop, a hiss of pain echoing through the silent forest.   
  
“What are you here for?” Ja’far growled, his footsteps quiet against the branch he stood on. A dark form was pressed flat against the trunk, the glimmer of Ja’far’s knife dug deep into the man’s arm, hand outstretched and loose. “I won’t ask again.” He pressed his other blade to the man’s throat, his eyes burning with anger. “What are you here for? What do you want from us?” The assailant laughed, his eyes narrowed and bright with madness. Ja’far’s eyebrows furrowed, dread settling deep inside him.

“You,” the man whispered hoarsely. Ja’far blinked in surprise, reducing the pressure on his attacker’s throat slightly. But it was just enough. His side erupted in pain, the attacker’s free arm coming up to dig his knife deeply into the meaty flesh of Ja’far’s abdomen. Ja’far choked when it was slowly extracted, but forced his blade against the man’s throat once more. Blood spilled from the now open wound, soaking into the white cloth surrounding it. Agony burned at his nerves, but he didn’t let it show on his face, glaring openly at his attacker.

“That was a bad move.” And he angled his knife, allowing it to finally slice into the thin flesh of the man’s neck. Blood spattered against his face as he dragged his blade across the assassin’s throat, hot and slick against his pale flesh. Onyx eyes were impassive as the man cloaked in black gurgled and choked on his own blood, which leaked readily from the weeping cut that stretched from ear to ear. Ja’far pulled his blade back from the tree, sucking in a breath when the movement tugged on the torn flesh of his side. The man slumped over onto the branch, tumbling down to the ground when it failed to keep him stable. Ja’far didn’t spare him a second glance, turning to face whomever decided to attack next.

Blood poured down his side, spattering thickly down to his feet. His jaw was clenched, muscles taut against the pain that threatened to overwhelm him. This wound shouldn’t have even happened; it would have gotten him killed as a child. He was slipping. He didn’t dare touch it in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. He was still in the middle of a fight, and any signs of weakness might get him killed. As it stood now, that chance had increased exponentially anyway. Swallowing, his grip tightened around his knifes, blood gleaming along their edges.

The next attacker was upon him before he had a chance to prepare for it, a shadow slamming hard against him and knocking him from the tree that he stood on. Air rushed past him as he fell, smoke swirling up around him and blocking his view of who it was that had pushed him. He slammed hard into the ground, his vision momentarily going black. Pain exploded along his side, tearing through him like lightning. He gasped, blood gathering in his throat, and turned to the side, one of his arms clutching at the injury.

His vision cleared moments later, though black dots still peppered the edges of it. He lay at the edge of the path he had vacated in an attempt to stop this madness, sprawled at the roots of the trees that he had been the location of his struggle. A battle raged against a backdrop of flames, smoke hazing the air. Cries of pain screeched through the forest, bodies sprawled against the ground in various states of injury. Dark blood seeped into the earth, gleaming in the flickering light of the fire. Mystras stood at its center, his face fixed into a snarl as he fought. Blood dripped from his hairline and at the corner of his lips, staining a face that was already coated in dirt. With a cry, he impaled the man before him on the tip of his lance, already in the process of wheeling around the meet his next target when he saw Ja’far. His face paled, his dark eyes widening in surprise.

Ja’far blinked wearily, his eyes blurring slightly. His lips parted to call out to Mystras, but he quickly found he lacked the energy. His side throbbed, blood oozing from between his fingers. His head rested against the ground below, his eyelids already beginning to droop. His thoughts were leaden, but less so than his body. Dammit…Something must have been on that knife.

Mystras moved towards Ja’far, his mouth moving soundlessly. Panic was etched onto his expression, the hair that was usually curtained across one side of his face swept aside in the heat of battle. But even as he began to run, he stopped, confusion fluttering across his face. The shaft of an arrow, glowing with magical energy, sprouted from his shoulder, another appearing from his upper thigh. Ja’far’s eyes widened, his heart pounding harshly against his ribs. This couldn’t be happening. Mystras stumbled, one of his legs crumpling beneath him. His body jerked again, an arrow embedding itself into his abdomen. Crimson blood seeped from between his lips, dripping in thick streams down to his chin. Dark eyes lifted to meet Ja’far’s, a weak smile fluttering quickly across Mytoras’ lips. Then one of the attackers appeared behind him and knocked him over the head with the back of his blade. Mystras’ eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell, falling to a crumpled heap on his side. He didn’t stir.

How could everything go so wrong all at once?

Ja’far wanted to get up, wanted to rush over to check on him, but his vision swam again, darkness flecking its edges. He couldn’t do much more than stare through slit eyes as Mystras bled onto the ground around him, his lance rolling from his grasp. Ja’far’s thoughts swam, his senses dulled to the world around him. Finally, his vision failed, the world falling to darkness around him. Someone rolled him onto his back, a low groan escaping from between parted lips. “What should we do with the rest?” someone asked, his voice startling clear against the roaring in Ja’far’s ears.

“Kill them. We have no need for them.”

And Ja’far knew no more.


	4. Chapter 4

The soft clinking of metal and the squeak of meagerly lubricated hinges was the first thing that Ja’far heard upon rising to consciousness, his head throbbing at each shrill sound. His body rocked and swayed, arms secured above him even as his toes just barely skimmed the cold floor below. Judging from the distinct pull in his shoulders, he’d been hanging without support for some time. Not exactly a good thing. Fighting back a groan, he lifted his head, his eyes snapping open in an instant.

His senses roared back to life at that exact moment, old instincts forcing him into activity. The room he was in was sparsely lit, the only light spilling in from the cracks in the ceiling above where it pebbled the ground at his feet. The air stank of mildew and old blood, his mouth twisting at the scent of it. His shoulders trembled and throbbed when he twisted, head whipping around in an attempt to gain a better view of his surroundings. Chains clanged loudly above him, the cuffs digging deeply into his wrists. His side ached with each movement, the blood crusting his side crackling and flaking off and bringing with it faint memories of its origin.

How had he gotten here? The last thing he remembered was…the attack on the caravan… _Mystras_ …His breath froze in his lungs, his jaw clenching tightly at the memory of Mystras, slumped over and bleeding out. Dark eyes squeezing shut, he shook his head, already feeling the guilt beginning to close around him. He didn’t know what had happened to his friend, he could be dead for all he knew…And Ja’far hadn’t done anything to stop it…His hands curled into fists overhead, the cuffs cutting into the meaty flesh of his palms. Sucking in a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes drifted open, glistening with tears he didn’t bother shedding. He…couldn’t dwell on it, not here and not now.

He had to get himself out of here first. So, he swallowed down his emotions with an experience that he shouldn’t even have, and continued his search, ignoring the dampness of his eyes. The situation was far too dire for him to give into human weakness…

His body was bare, not a scrap of cloth on his form. But what concerned Ja’far far more was the missing constricting sensation of his weapons, their presence of a higher priority than his dignity. Callouses twined up his arms to mark the path where the wires had once rested, paler than the rest of his skin. Similarly, the scars on his legs gleamed in the light that managed to reach here, jaggedly stretching down to his ankles. Whomever had brought him hear had ensured that he would have a hard time escaping, stripping him of both his ability to fight back and his modesty.

Ja’far tugged experimentally on the chains, the skin around his eyes tightening when the metal bit into his flesh. Scarlet blood rolled slowly down his arms, staining the pale skin with its bright coloring. His teeth closed around his bottom lips, his head craning upwards to look at his restraints despite the stiff burn to his neck. Interlocking iron links stretched up to the securing mechanism secured to the ceiling, the metal rusted in places. With enough force, it might be possible for him to break through the chains. Sucking in a deep breath, he started to pull himself up higher, hands grasping at the chains to anchor himself.

But as he prepared to start checking the chain for obvious weaknesses, a door somewhere above him slammed open, bright light illuminating the stairway he hadn’t noticed until now. Ja’far eased himself back down, swallowing back a wince at the renewed ache in his shoulders. Loud, regular footsteps creaked down the old steps, the wood bending beneath the weight. A shadowed form glided down the stairs, a cloak billowing behind them. They paused upon reaching the bottom, a pair of dark eyes slowly scanning the room. Ja’far resisted the urge to shudder when they stopped on him, a large smile stretching ominously across the figure’s face.

“You’ve caused us quite a bit of trouble, Ja’far,” a gruff voice grumbled, the man walking towards him. “Running off like you did and hiding like a petulant child…” He stopped in front of Ja’far’s hanging body, his gaze raking up and down the pale, and slightly shivering, form. Ja’far’s eyes narrowed to slits, scowling down at the man. “But you knew that it was only a matter of time until we found you…didn’t you?”

“It was inevitable, yes. But I was still rather surprised at just how long it took you to find me. Has the Organization lost its skill?” Ja’far countered, his voice rough. A thin, but confident smile pulled at his lips, his fingers curling into loose fists above him. The man tilted his head to the side, blinking slowly at him. But in a blink of an eye, a fist buried itself into his abdomen, another hand flat against his bare back. Pain exploded in his stomach, bile burning up his esophagus before splashing bitterly at the back of his throat. He choked, eyes flying wide open. The man backed away, his hand still curled into a tight fist.

“I would be very careful what you say. You’re already on very fragile ground.” Ja’far heaved for breath, but the sharp pain in his abdomen had already reduced to a dull throbbing. “Now…I have a few questions for you…”

“You won’t get anything from me, you bastard.” The man reached out and grasped Ja’far’s chin firmly, his hands hot against Ja’far’s chilled skin. He pulled Ja’far down harshly, the bones in Ja’far’s shoulders grinding audibly together.

“You’ll find that the Organization always gets what we want…In one way, or another.” Malicious dark eyes stared at him for a few seconds, holding him in this agonizing position. “It would be in your best interest to tell me what I want to know.” Ja’far spat saliva directly into his eyes, relishing in the surprised squawk that met the action. His body snapped back into a normal position as he was released, a relieved exhale puffing out from his lips the moment the pain lowered back to a tolerable range.

“I’m well aware how the Organization operates. And I’m sure you’ll be very pleased to hear that I am immune to a grand majority of your torture methods.” He spoke proudly, a giddy edge to his words. Silence met his speech, the man’s arm lowering, his fingers wet with the fluid leaking from his eyes. Dread pooled in Ja’far’s stomach at the lack of response, swallowing nervously. But he didn’t regret it.

He didn’t belong to the Organization anymore; despite what they might think.

The man sighed, a sharp scowl slashing across his thin face. “I guess it’s a good thing that I have been authorized to use anything necessary to get what we want from you. The Organization always gets what we want, Ja’far. Always.” Onyx eyes were flinty with anger, glaring down at his captor.

“We both know that you’re not here to ask me questions. And even if you were, I wouldn’t tell you a single thing. So how about you tell me exactly why I’m here, or consider this conversation over.” The moment his lips fell still, a sharp blade pricked at his throat, its edge glittering in the trickling light. Ja’far tensed, his chin jerking upwards reflexively to accommodate the knife. His captor had stepped closer, the distinct odor of unwashed flesh flowing from him. A golden hilt shone in his palm, a flaking brown lining its detailed crevices where it disappeared into his hand. Cold sweat dotted Ja’far’s face, tracing small, but freezing trails down to his chin.

“I don’t believe that you’re calling the shots here, snake,” the man hissed, lips pulled back in a venomous snarl. The knife pressed further into Ja’far’s exposed neck, blood beading along its edge. But Ja’far kept his chin raised, his scowl still firm with defiance. “So I’d be very careful what you say around me.”   
  
“If I was to die, you would have killed me already. So I can say what I want because for some reason you need me alive.” The man growled audibly, the blade digging a little deeper before he withdrew. Ja’far relaxed slightly, exhaling quietly. Blood trailed down his neck, continuing unhindered down his abdomen. Brown eyes glared menacingly at him, his grip tight around his knife.

Without warning, he lashed out, the hilt of the blade striking Ja’far’s temple. Lights exploded behind Ja’far’s eyes, a brilliant array of bright colors shimmering as pain lanced through his skull. His mouth fell open, but no noise escaped him, old training halting the sound before it could even be produced. Hot blood leaked from his forehead, mixing with the sweat already wetting his face. The fair strands of hair that brushed against his forehead clung to the open wound, gluing themselves to his skin. Words filtered in through the intrusive ringing in his ears. “I may not be able to kill you, but I can certainly make your life a living hell.”

Ja’far blinked in an attempt to clear his vision, the blurry haze of colors lifting enough for him to gaze at the form of his captor. “For someone who’s supposed to be interrogating me, you’re not even asking questions,” Ja’far choked out, one eye closed to ward off the blood dripping into it. “You’re not very good at your job, are you?” A hand tore across his face in an open-palmed slap, jerking Ja’far’s head to the side.

“I am very good at my job. We just haven’t gotten there quite yet.” Ja’far spat blood to the side, turning his head slowly to bring his gaze back to his captor. The man was grinning, the knife swinging loosely in his grasp. “But you seem rather eager for me to ask you something. Are you already willing to spill everything you know?” As he spoke, he closed the gap between them, pressing the tip of the knife into the space between two of Ja’far’s lower ribs. Ja’far resisted the urge to suck in a breath, keeping his chest as still as possible without risking suffocation. The knife began to move, drawing a burning path to his breastbone. Jaw clenched, his lips clamped shut, even as the knife stabbed a little deeper at the end of the laceration. “What do you say…snake?”

“Fuck you.” That grin widened, lips parting to reveal his teeth.

“Guess not.” His captor switched hands on the weapon, its blade slicing into the opposite side of Ja’far’s chest. Blood, a dark and shimmering crimson, oozed from the thin wounds, dripping languidly down pebbled skin and over tense thighs before splattering onto the ground below. Greedy eyes followed its path, a tongue slipping out to run over dry lips. “But you are right, I can’t kill you.” Those dark eyes narrowed, tearing away from the dripping crimson to lock back onto Ja’far’s face. “No matter how much you may deserve it, traitor…” The blade was forced deeper into the flesh, a choked groan finally escaping from between tightly clamped lips.

“Why…why can’t you kill me…?” Ja’far gasped, pain searing through his body in violent bursts. The next line was cut raggedly, the blade jumping up and down with the movement of his chest. Each breath was agony, the wounds stretching and pulling with each intake of air. Blood poured from the lacerations, his chest drenched in wet scarlet. The muscles in his neck were taut, straining against the pain that flooded him. Chain jangled and clanged, his arms shaking. His fingernails dug deeply into his palms, a pitiful attempt to divert the pain.

The knife drew away from his frayed skin, pausing in its journey to slit open his chest. “That’s simple really…” Ja’far stared down at him with a single wide eye, the other still occluded with a curtain of blood. His captor toyed with his blade, ignoring the wet crimson clinging to its edge. Puddles of it gathered along the floor, congealing in the chilly air of the cellar. “We’ve got plans for you, Ja’far. Plans that need you alive.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a week late and I am SO SORRY! But because of my dumb mistake, now everyone who reads here gets two chapters today!!!!!

Sinbad paced in the main floor, one of his arms wrapped around his abdomen while the other cupped around his chin in thought. His mouth was twisted into a pensive scowl, matching the unfocused glaze to his eyes. His boots clacked against the floor, echoing sharply in the nearly silent room. Long strands of violet hair fanned out behind him each time he turned. The skin of his forehead was creased with worry, dark bags shadowing under his eyes. The workers watched him as he walked, hands cupped loosely over their quills and scrolls. It had been difficult to concentrate as of late, especially when Sinbad came in at least once a day to pace in front of the door.

Watching…

Waiting…

Sinbad had the look of a man who hadn’t slept in days, and if rumors were to be believed, then he hadn’t. Many people had seen him wandering the halls in the late hours of night. He stood by one of the larger windows near the entrance, bathed in the pale light of the moon, and just stared outside. Sinbad denied it whenever he was asked, but without fail, he could be found there every night. And it was beginning to worry the people who worked for him. A tense air hung over the room, making most of the people in it anxious. They toyed with the materials on their desk, rustled the papers before them, anything to break the tension that threatened to snap violently in the room.

Sin stopped suddenly, his feet coming together, and let his hands drop back down to his sides. Golden eyes stared forlornly at the floor, a small film of tears trembling on his lower eyelids. “I just don’t get it,” he murmured, his hands curling into loose fists. “Someone should have been here by now. It shouldn’t have taken this long. Even if they were held up somewhere, he was supposed to send back a messenger…” He paused, his eyes squeezing shut. “I got Drakon’s days ago… So why…?” Sucking in a breath, he pulled his head back up, his lips pressed together as he attempted to force himself back under control. One of his hands came up and swiped at his eyes, riding them of the moisture that gathered there.

When he turned back towards the desks, his workers ducked their heads, quills scratching noisily at the papers in front of them. He walked soundlessly through the middle of the room, his hands swinging limply at his sides. Pessimistic thoughts slipped in and out of his head, each one more gruesome than the last. He shook his head violently, pausing midstep by Vittel’s desk. “No news is good news, I suppose,” he muttered bitterly. The smile that stretched across his face was colored with panic and fear, only serving to worry his men more further. Golden eyes dropped onto Vittel, who yelped and attempted to return to his work, having been caught staring at Sinbad.

Sighing, Sin continued on towards the back of the room, where Rurumu stood, waiting for him to reach her. His gaze flickered up to her, mild surprise registering on his expression. Her amber eyes gleamed with worry, a light frown pulling at her lips. Braided bands of sapphire hair tumbled down her back, another set of twin braids falling over her shoulders. Her hands were clasped in front of her, her head angled down towards the approaching form of Sinbad. “Rurumu,” he whispered upon finally reaching her, his voice a little high with desperation. “Rurumu, have you heard anything?” She shook her head, her frown deepening some. She had heard it was bad, but she hadn’t expected it to be quite this bad.

“No, I have not. No news has reached me about the caravan’s whereabouts and status,” she responded calmly, carefully watching Sinbad’s reaction. The blood drained from his face, stealing color from skin that was already pale and blotchy with exhaustion. He stumbled slightly, his face falling into an open palm. Worried cries rose from the workers, chairs scraping against the floor as several of them stood. Rurumu waved them down, silencing the room instantly.

“What could this mean, Rurumu? What if something happened? What if they never made it? What if they’re all dead and we’ll never know about it?! I knew I shouldn’t have ordered this. It was a bad idea from the start. I should have gone with them,” Sin rambled, his hand dropping from his face when he leveled manic eyes at Rurumu. “I sent them all to their de-”

His head jerked to the side, a large slap cutting off his rambling. Rurumu’s hand was outstretched, fingers pressed together to expose her palm. A read mark was already beginning to blossom on Sin’s cheek, bright and evident against the paleness of his flesh. Gold eyes were wide and horrified, tears beginning to gather once more. A hand rose to brush against his cheek, his head turning slowly to stare at Rurumu. She glared down at him, her expression stern. “Listen to me, Sinbad. There’s no use jumping to conclusions when we haven’t received any information yet. All you’re going to do is create panic when none is warranted.” Her words were spoken harshly, anger slipping into her normally soft tone. Pausing for a moment, she sighed and crouched down to meet’s Sin’s eyes more directly. “You need to start taking better care of yourself. I know you’re worried about Ja’far. I am too, Sinbad. But I’m worried about you too. You’re starting to scare our employees.” Sin nodded dumbly, his hand still pressed against his burning cheek. Her eyes softened, one of her hands reaching up to rest on Sinbad’s head. “It’s going to be alright, Sinbad. Just have faith.” His eyes slipped shut and he nodded again, the tension draining from his shoulders.

“Alright…I’ll try.” She smiled softly, removing her hand and pulling herself upright.

“That’s all I ask.” Sin opened his mouth to speak when the door creaked open behind him, cutting him off before he could say a single word. He wheeled around, eyes wide and searching. Hope blossomed within him, his feet thudding against the floor as he ran back the way he came to the entrance once more. A smile pulled at his face, ready to greet whomever was coming through the door warmly.

But when the door opened fully to allow entrance, Sin froze, golden eyes wide and horrified. Mystras stumbled into the room, his legs nearly buckling underneath him as he did so. Blood soaked his armor, seeping from the punctures that punched neatly through its protection. Crimson spattered at his feet, spreading slowly against the tiled floors. His feet scraped as he limped forward, lacking the energy to completely lift his legs. The tip of his lance dug into the floor, his hand clutching desperately at its hilt to hold himself up. The other was wrapped around his abdomen, hand curled into a tight fist as if holding something within. Gasps spread through the room, work abandoned as people began to gather around the entrance. “Mystras…” Sin breathed, the color draining from his features once more. Mystras weakly looked up, dark eyes glazed with pain. Sin’s breath caught in his throat, his heart thudding in his chest.

The lance cluttered to the ground, Mystras rushing desperately forward towards Sinbad. His hand closed around Sin’s bicep, his grip surprisingly tight. Sin’s arms moved without thought, one grasping at Mystras’ belt and the other grabbing at the arm gripping his own in an attempt to keep him upright. “Mystras, what…” Desperate eyes gazed into his own, his pupils dilated and unfocused when as they met Sin’s. Crusted blood traced a path down to his chin. His face was pale, sickly even in its complexion. His blood running like ice in his veins, Sin held tight to Mystras, deducing just how serious this was just by looking down at his face.

“Sinbad, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “I tried so hard…but I…” His eyelids fluttered and his legs gave out from under him, Sin’s grip tightening in order to keep them from both going down. Sinbad lowered himself to his knees slowly, bringing Mystras with him, and placed him carefully onto his lap, one of his arms moving to wrap around his armored shoulders.

“Mystras, what are you sorry about? What did you try to do?” There was a high note of panic in Sin’s tone, his grip tight around the form in his arms. Mystras’ eyes slid back open, his glassy gaze barely focused on Sin’s face.

“I tried…There was too many…We failed…I failed him…Everyone’s dead…” Tears leaked from his eyes, carving through the gore that was caked along his face. The hand around his abdomen loosened, falling open against his stomach. “I’m sorry…” And his eyes shut once more, his head falling limply against Sin’s shoulder. His arm fell away from Sin’s arm, leaving a crimson handprint behind, and crashed to the floor beside them, fingers curling up towards the ceiling. Blood seeped into Sin’s clothing, hot against his chilled skin. It puddled beneath them, matching the scarlet hair that adorned Mystras’ head. Sin stared down at him, numb to the world around him.

He’d been right this whole time. He’d sent everyone to their deaths. Nausea churned in his stomach, but he swallowed it back, tearing his gaze away from Mystras’s face. Another flash of bright red made him stop, pausing at the objects that Mystras had been holding. Two blades were tucked against his forearm, the intricate designs adorning them all too familiar, as were the scarlet wires that normally anchored the blades to their user. His eyes widened further, his mouth dropping open in shock and terror.

Ja’far’s weapons.

But no Ja’far.

**MLMMLM**

Sinbad sat at his desk, his head clutched in his hands. Papers were scattered over its surface, his own messy handwriting scrawled across each sheet. Ink stained the wood itself, the inkwell tipped onto its side and spilling the vicious substance that it contained within. More ink was spattered against the bland walls, broken shards of glass scattered across the floor. A few scrolls rolled, half opened and torn, by the desk, ruined beyond repair. Ja’far would kill him for such an outburst…. His eyes screwed tightly shut, sucking in a shaky breath.

If he could anyway…But he couldn’t.   
  
Because Ja’far couldn’t come back. He was gone.

Sin’s lips peeled away from clenched teeth, his shoulders beginning to shake. Set before him on the desk where Ja’far’s weapons, the red wires tangled into a complicated knot. Dried blood was crusted along the edges of the twin knives at the ends of the ropes, evidence of the fight that had silenced its wielder once and for all. This was all he had left of Ja’far, the single memento that he had to remember him by. But he couldn’t even bring himself to look at it.

His heart throbbed in his chest, sending pain bursting through him with each feeble beat. This was all his fault. He’d gone over every inch of the caravan’s path with Ja’far, every nook and cranny had been investigated and deemed safe, and yet, Sin had known in his gut that something was going to go wrong. But he didn’t even act on it. He just stood and waved as the caravan left, a fake grin plastered across his face. There was so much that he could have done to prevent this, but he hadn’t, and Ja’far paid the ultimate price for his damned mistake.

The door opened soundlessly, fresh air breezing into the room with its movement. His bangs rustling, Sin didn’t move, his hands curling tighter against his skull. He had locked that door when he’d come in here hours ago…not like that’d actually stop some members of his company. A nearly hysterical laugh bubbled in his throat, a sound he quickly swallowed down. Silence suited his mood far better.

“Sinbad…?” a voice asked hesitantly. Sin sighed heavily, his fingers relaxing against his head. Slowly, he glanced up, golden eyes dull and rimmed with red. Vittel stood at the door, his hand still closed around the doorknob. Dark eyes flicked from side to side nervously, his lip tucked between his teeth. Thin, dry strands of pink hair curtained across his forehead, poking out messily from the mop of hair that sat on top of his head. A thick scar stretched across the bridge of his nose, dark and puckered against his pale face. Sinbad drew in a breath, lowering his hands back to the desk before him. His jaw clenched when his fingers brushed against the wires in front of him, his lips pressing into a thin line. He dropped his hands into his lap instead, folding them neatly to hide their trembling.

“What can I do for you, Vittel?” he asked wearily, his voice flat and vacant. Vittel blinked in surprise, his eyebrows furrowing with concern. But when his gaze dropped to the weapons on the desk, understanding fluttered across his expression. He stepped further inside, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. Wringing his hands, he walked up to the desk, still glancing around a little nervously.

“I don’t think Ja’far is dead, Sinbad,” he stated, his words dropping like stones through the silence. Sin stared at him in shock, his mouth dropping open and shut several times. Thoughts formed and vanished in seconds, his mind racing to process what he had just been told.

“What…?” he managed, his mouth fumbling over the single question. Vittel swallowed, hesitating for a moment.

“I think I know what happened to the caravan, sir.” Sin shook his head, lifting his hands from his lap to gesture for him to continue. A small spark of hope began to grow deep in his chest, tendrils of warmth branching through his entire body. Dare he believe…?

“Well, please, explain!” A quick smile stretched across Vittel’s thin face, scarlet eyes brightening considerably. But it was gone in an instant, a more somber expression replacing it.

“The organization ambushed the caravan. I’ve done work like this for them before. Mystras’ is suffering from arrow wounds strategically placed to incapacitate him before killing him. One was in the shoulder of his weapon bearing arm to stop him from fighting, another in his thigh to stop him from running. The shot to the stomach was supposed to be the killing blow, but it was sloppy work. Probably newer assassins, not seasoned just yet.” He shook his head, lips twisting into a scowl. “I won’t know for certain until I see the caravan, but it seems likely that this was an attack ordered by the organization.” The skin between Sin’s eyebrows crumpled in thought, a pensive frown creasing across his expression.

“I see…And Ja’far?” A sheen of tears shimmered under Vittel’s eyes, his throat bobbing once more as he swallowed thickly.

“Why would you strip the weapons from a dead body…?” Golden eyes widened, dropping down to the weapons resting on his desk. They gleamed mockingly up at him, their intricate designs flecked with flaking blood.

“But what if Mystras just brought them because they were the only things he could carry?”

“Ja’far’s weapons are hard to strip from him intact like that unless you know exactly how they work. Mystras barely made it back here, I don’t think he would have wasted time figuring out Ja’far’s weapons.”

“…What are you implying…?” Vittel sniffed, tears gathering along his eyelashes, clumping them together.

“I think they captured him…And if they did…nothing good can come of it.” Tears finally streaked down his cheeks, his lips trembling. Sin stood slowly, his gaze still glued to the scarlet wires and the silver blades that were attached. His thoughts raced, already piecing together a possible plan. Vittel’s eyes squeezed shut, his face wet and dripping. “Please, Sinbad! You’ve got to let me help you save him! I know I’ve screwed up in the past, but I can help you! I promise!” Sin reached out and grabbed Vittel’s shoulder, smiling reassuringly at the weeping man.

“You’re going to get your chance to help, Vittel. I have an idea, but only you and Mahad can help me execute it. Can I rely on you?” Scarlet eyes shone brightly when they locked onto Sin’s, a wobbly smile stretching across his face. His hand reached up to wipe under his nose, tears still dripping from his eyes.

“You can count on me! I won’t let you down this time!”

“You never have, Vittel. You never have.” His free hand reached down to curl around the wires on the desk, his grip tight around them. “Now, let’s go find Mahad so we can hammer out this plan, ok?”


	6. Chapter 6

Vittel crouched in the tall branches of the oak that overlooked the wreckage below, the wind tousling his hair. Scarlet eyes narrowed, sweeping over the burnt remains of the carriages, each blackened husk surrounded by the broken pieces of the cargo they had once carried. The scorched ground held the charred corpses of those who had been unlucky enough to be caught in the initial explosion, bodies broken and scattered among the remains of the caravan. A deep scowl carved across Vittel’s expression, pulling at the scar that crossed his nose.

Lifting himself up from the crouch, he stood tall, scanning the immediate area before glancing back at Mahad, his larger form a shadow at Vittel’s back. Nodding sharply, they jumped down from their perch, the wind tearing at their clothes as they fell. Landing deftly in a crouch, Vittel straightened slowly, pausing momentarily before taking a single step forward. His foot jammed into the root jutting out from the earth in front of him, his forward momentum sending him sprawling onto the ground with a loud, startled squawk. Dust billowed up from the fall, his face smacking into the dirt even as his arms shot out to soften his landing.

He scrambled back to his feet, hands quickly patting out the dirt from his clothing. Mahad shook his head silently, moving ahead without waiting for Vittel to finish. A blush darkened Vittel’s pale cheeks, his expression flustered as he ran to catch up to his partner. Clearing his throat, he attempted to regain his composure, his cheeks still colored. “Sorry,” he muttered, not bothering to glance at Mahad to see his responding nod. The moment his gaze locked back onto the scene before them, his expression sobered, his scarlet eyes sharpening once more with focus.

The area carried the rancid scent of decay, day after day of exposure to the harsh elements speeding up the decomposition of human flesh. Charred skeletons were scattered in broken pieces onto the ground near the carts, limbs outstretched towards the safety that had been so close or missing altogether. Dark spatters of blood speckled the dirt, dried and crumbling into the wind. It trailed in all directions away from the caravan, those who had attempted escaped caught in the act of doing so. Swollen bodies lined the open path through the forest, hands curled stiffly around personal belongings that they had wanted in their final moments. The carriages themselves were tipped onto their sides and cracked open, their contents within spilled outwards and smudged with ash or burned entirely.

But nothing was missing and no one was left alive.

Vittel frowned, scanning the area once more to find clues that he may have missed in the first look. “This is definitely the work of the organization,” he murmured, his gaze trained onto the lack of missing cargo. Mahad nodded solemnly, his nostrils flaring at the hint of magic that still wove through the air. “Shit. I was hoping that I was wrong.” Sighing, Vittel walked forward, waving his hand to motion for Mahad to join him. “Come on. Let’s see if we can find anything else that might indicate where the Organization was heading after they took Ja’far, because I don’t see Ja’far anywhere.”

Two steps forward and Mahad paused, his brow crumpling as his gaze shot to the side and searched. Vittel stopped and stared back at him, his hand grabbing at the weapon secured to his back. “Yea…I feel it too…We’re not alone here.”

The moment the words left his mouth, an arrow embedded itself into the ground at their feet, quivering due to the impact. Vittel jumped away from the next strike, hand clearing the weapon on his back. Twin blades jutted out from the central hilt, each coming to a stop at a wicked point. His eyes narrowed, jumping up towards the trees where the attacks were coming from. A practiced gazed peered easily through the gloom of the trees, catching the movement of a shadowed figure without a single problem. His head quirking to the side towards Mahad, he ran forward, his weapon twisting intimidatingly in his grasp. Mahad sped out in the opposite direction, vanishing into the cover of the trees. Vittel didn’t bother watching him, trusting him to do what was needed, instead, he kept his gaze trained towards the trees, drawing their enemies fire as a distraction.

Arrows trailed his path, speckling the ground that he had been occupying the second beforehand. He never wavered, his steps quick and even. Weapon held tight in his hand, Vittel dodged and jumped away from the projectiles, mentally counting the minutes until his partner finished the job. Adrenaline thrummed in his veins, snapping his senses into a sharp focus. He skidded to a sudden stop, his sandals scraping the dirt below. A single arrow sliced the skin of his cheek just as a startled yelp echoed through the silence, Vittel not moving an inch from where he had stopped. Blood snaked over his cheek, his fingers brushing up against it. Crimson stained his fingertips, his eyes darkening at its presence.

A figure tumbled from the trees, Mahad trailing behind them as a dark blur. Vittel approached them slowly, his jaw clenched. Their attacker remained crumpled in the dirt, blood pooling in the dirt around him. Hands clutched at a large laceration that sliced through their side, another slicing across their chest. Vittel blinked in surprised, coming to a stop before them. He glanced at Mahad questioningly, but the man shook his head at the inquisitive look. So he’d been injured when Mahad had found him…Interesting…. A pitiful groan rolled up to reach him, Vittel rolling his eyes in disgust.

Planting his feet on either side of the injured man, Vittel crouched down, flipping his weapon to hold one of the blades at the man’s throat. Pained eyes stared up at him, sweat dripping down the man’s face. “What do you want?” he wheezed, his lips cracked and bleeding. There was a desperation to his eyes, bringing Vittel to a single conclusion. He could use this to his advantage.

“Where is Ja’far?” he snarled, scarlet eyes glinting menacingly down at him. A thin grin spread across the man’s face, a weak chuckle meeting his words.

“Why would I tell you anything?” Vittel smiled, the expression all teeth, and cocked his head to the side, his gaze wide and gleaming.

“They left you here, didn’t they? You got hurt and they abandoned you like you were nothing. They won’t come back for you, so it’s in your best interest to do as we say, because we have as little need for you as they do.” Dark eyes widened sharply, a crackled gasp meeting his words. Mahad moved in the corner of Vittel’s vision, slipping slowly out of site as he walked towards the darkness. Vittel paid him no mind, pressing his weapon a little deeper into the man’s throat. “Where is Ja’far, you filthy scum?” A scowl creased his hostage’s face, his shocked stare sharpening into a glare.

“Fuck you, asshole. You’re going to get nothing from me. I may be useless, but I’m still loyal to them and them alone. Good luck finding him. We’ve hidden well…” A choking laugh broke off his words, spittle dripping from the corner of his mouth. Vittel blinked and glanced up towards his partner, who nodded sharply and gestured to the path below him. His grin widening, Vittel directed his gaze towards the man below him, grip tightening around the hilt of his weapon in preparation.

“You don’t need to tell us anything. You’ve already given us everything we need.” And his arm jerked forward, his blade digging deeply into the man’s throat. A startled gurgle erupted from his throat, his eyes going wide with horror. Yanking the weapon away, hot blood spurted upwards, speckling Vittel’s clothes and leaked down from either sides of the man’s neck. Within moments, death claimed him, blank eyes staring up at the man who had delivered the killing blow. Vittel sighed and shook the blood from his blade, standing back up. He turned towards Mahad and started towards him, a hand coming up to wipe the blood from his face.

“Let’s go, Mahad.”   
  
**MLMMLM**

“What if we focus on areas that are isolated? We know they’re going to want to limit contact with living beings at all costs,” Sin mused, his finger tracing lightly over a few small areas on the map stretched over the table in front of him. His other hand was curled around the table’s edge, holding his weight even as he leaned over to reach areas out of his immediate reach. His ponytail spilled over his shoulder, the strands pooling beside him. Hinahoho had both hands anchored to the other end of the table, his expression twisted in thought as he stared down at the areas that Sinbad had indicated. His fingers tapped against the wood, amber eyes jumping form section to section as he considered. Sin glanced up at him, his mouth curled into a pensive frown. Finally, Hinahoho nodded slowly.

“It’s possible…” he responded quietly, cocking his head to the side as if to view the map from a better angle. “But it’s also possible that they’re hiding in plain sight, which would make them even harder to find. From what we’ve heard from Mahad and Vittel and Ja’far, they’re skilled in magic and may be able to hide their presence.” Sin sighed, his frown deepening, and trained a frustrated stare back onto the map.

“So what you’re saying is with the information we have right now, it’s impossible to refine the search…” A single hand releasing the table, Hinahoho rubbed the back of his head, his shoulders shrugging.

“What I’m saying is that we just don’t know, Sinbad.” Sinbad’s teeth ground together, his jaw muscles bulging with the clench of his jaw. His free hand curled into a tight fist, relaxing the moment after, his anger fading with the release of tension from his muscles. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“You’re right. We don’t know…But we still have to try. Maybe we’ll get luck-” The door to the small conference room creaked open, cutting Sin off mid word. Blinking in surprise, golden eyes jumped up to the door, his mouth still slightly open. Rurumu stood in the doorway, her hand closed around the doorknob. Her expression was serious, soft lips curved into a frown. “Rurumu?”

“Mahad and Vittel have returned, Sinbad. They wish to speak with you the moment you are available to talk,” she conveyed, her amber eyes gleaming with worry. Sinbad’s eyebrows rose to match the widening of his eyes, his body straightening as he pulled himself upright and away from the table.

“By all means, send them in now!” His voice grew in volume, his words tight with grim anticipation. Rurumu nodded and turned away, indicating to someone outside of Sin’s view that they could enter. Stepping quickly into the room, she cleared the entrance so that the exhausted and dirty forms of Vittel and Mahad could enter, dust and grime coating both their skin and their clothes. Limp strands of hair fell messily around Vittel’s face, clumped with sweat, grease, and a substance that looked suspiciously like blood. Mahad’s dark clothes showed less of the wear and tear, but the skin around his eyes was wrinkled and dark with fatigue. It appeared as if they had slept very little since leaving a week ago. Gold eyes were bright with worry when they dropped onto the slumping forms of the two men. Sin swallowed, his teeth toying with the inside of his cheek briefly. “Did you find anything?” he asked quietly.

Heads dipping in unison, they approached the table with a slow, shuffling gait. “We did,” Vittel murmured, scarlet eyes raking over the map before them. His hand lifted, shaking minutely, and placed a single finger in a small town nestled near the crook of a river. “He’s here…” His voice was laced with weariness, softer than it had been in a long time. Sin stared at the spot before his gaze jumped back up to the former assassins, the golden hue bright with growing determination and hope.   
  
“Are you sure?”

Again, the two nodded, Vittel’s hand lowering to his side once more. Blood caked long the inside of his palm, more was crusted along a single cut that slice across his cheek. “We’re sure.” Sin’s lips tightened, his grip tightening on the table when he leaned forward to shorten the distance between them.

“How sure?” Darkness fluttered in the back of Vittel’s bloodshot eyes when he rose them, tears smearing along the underside of his eyelids. His lower lip trembled, his nostrils flared slightly. He swallowed harshly, his throat bobbing noticeably.

“Very. The area is guarded. There’s very few guards, but they’re still there.” He paused for a moment, his eyes skirting nervously to the side. “They knew we were there too. But they did nothing about it. Almost like they wanted us to see…”

“Anything that links Ja’far there?”

“…His clothes. They were being used as rags by one of the guards.” Vittel threw a torn set of rags onto the map, the normal white of the cloth stained with blood and dirt. Sin stared down at the clothes, his heart thudding loudly in his chest. “We killed the guard…We couldn’t help it. We’re sorry, Sin. They probably know we’re coming now…” Vittel’s words filtered faintly through the roaring in Sin’s ears, barely hearing the hitch to his voice that meant that Vittel was crying.

“They stripped him…” Sin whispered faintly, reaching out to brush his hand against the cloth. He flinched upon touching it, the familiar coarse stiches setting anger roaring like a flame within him. His jaw clenched, his hand fisted in the clothes, his eyes narrowing to thin slits. With a snarl, he shoved himself away from the table, storming off towards the open door.

A large hand snagged the back of his jacket, stopping him in place. Hinahoho stood where he was, his am outstretched to grab at his renegade boss. “And where do you think you’re going?” he rumbled, glancing at him from the corner of his eyes. Sin glared at him, struggling silently in his grip.

“Where do you think I’m going?!”

“I think you’re going to do something stupid. Do you even have a plan, Sinbad?”

“I don’t need a plan!”

“Sure you don’t. If you want to get yourself killed, that is.” Sin growled, his eyes glittering with fury. But he stilled finally, noting that his struggles didn’t seem to be working anyway.

“Then what do you suppose, Hinahoho? That we just leave Ja’far there?!” Hinahoho shook his head, glancing quickly at Rurumu, who nodded silently, her own face a cold mask of fury. A thin smile stretched across his face, releasing Sinbad and drawing himself back up to his full height.

Not at all…But you’re going to take me and Rurumu with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaannnd we're still ignoring Ja'far right now. Hehehe


End file.
